The Wistful Incense
The first thing you notice, the thing that makes the hair on your forearms stand up and the air in your lungs turn to heavy, cold gelatin, is not the ghost itself, but the scent of ozone and burnt cinnamon that permeates the walls of the house, a smell that smells less like a fragrance and more like a chemical formula for grief that someone has forgotten to dilute, and you stand in the center...
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